Media Luna
by Shuna
Summary: Series of oneshots about Harry Potter and Severus Snape, and their relationship. A mixture of canon and AU fics.
1. Code of Silence

**This is the first of my new series with one-shots, concerning Harry Potter and Severus Snape. This is my first.**

** English isn't my first langue so sometimes I just don't see my own mistakes. So, I would appreciate it if you inform me where they are if you spot them.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters you may recognize. **

"Boy!"

_Are you aware of what my relatives call me? Because sometimes it seems like you do, Snape._

"Has the cat got your tongue, Potter?"

_Yes, I cut it off and gave it to Mrs. Norris this morning. She was very hungry, I wonder if Filch feeds her properly. She's so skinny, even for a cat. Sometimes, when she sneaks between your legs, you can feel small things rubbing you. That's her ribs._

"Why on earth did you not inform me about your allergy?"

_Like you would give me any easier tasks, or let me skive off then. If I'd been lucky, then you'd give me a four paper long essay on some extinct animal which you can't find any resources about. Even if I could find information to you, you'd still give me a T. _

"Had I known of your allergy, then I would give you another task. I have a responsibility towards my students after all."

_If you hadn't sneered now, then I just might have been able to believe you. _

"Potter, why are you not speaking?"

_Silence is worth more than gold, Professor._


	2. Severus’ Eulogy

**AN: I want to thank you all for reviewing, putting this story on alert, and favoriting my fic. Yes, I know it's still very short, but at least it's longer than last time. And for the first time in history, I have a beta, named Jazz E. Roisin. Yes, you all are the first to read any of my stories with a beta. **

Harry Potter took a deep breath. He was very uneasy by all of the looks he received from the audience. The public had requested him to have a speech about Severus Snape in his funeral. They told him that he had to thank the man for all the favors he had given him in his lifetime.

And Harry was thankful. He truly was, but it seemed like the public wanted him to speak openly.

He stared back at the people attending the service, and tried to find his words. "Severus Snape has been cleared for all charges against him and he's the reason why this bitter war has come to an end." He opened his speech like planned, but his voice was shaking in discomfort.

"One week ago I was on the run from the Ministry with my two, best friends. And when you're on the run, you discover that you are either much more alike than you thought you were, or much different. But we all agreed on one thing, no matter the differences we had."

Harry swallowed hard at his own words, and winced about what he was going to say next. "We hated him."

"He had never treated anyone of us kindly in the past." He continued swiftly, not letting the audience chew on it. He had his reasons of course, "I am not saying that we were the best students. I resembled a school enemy who stole his one true love, and I cannot say anything other than it must have been very painful for him to see me there in front of him.

He rarely treated anyone of us fairly, while his Slytherins were favorited, much to our anger. But it was when he killed Dumbledore that we started to hate him for his crimes against us. Dumbledore was a figure we thought would always be there for us and always had a last trick up his sleeve. I saw Professor Snape kill him, and that made me hate him for it."

Harry could see that his audience was getting uncomfortable, just like he was.

"Had I known why he did it, then it wouldn't have been so hard to swallow at the time. Had I known that I was the symbol of his greatest defeat, then it would be easier to understand why he hated me so. Had I known that he was the most brilliant double agent who I have heard of or seen, then it would had been easier for me to respect him at the current time. Had I known that he was forced to kill Dumbledore, what change would it have had?"

Harry looked around him, at every one of his audience, which were deadly silent.

"It would have changed everything. However, it was his secret, and I only learned this after his death. Had I seen him after I learned this, I would have said things to him."

Finally, the speech came to an end. "I am sorry for being so rude to you. And thank you for saving my ass."

He walked down from the pedestal, and while another person was giving their speech, he gulped down a small butterbeer. "Well then, now I have officially apologized to you, Professor." he muttered to low for anybody's ears. "And I mean it this time too. I always have..."

**AN: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I hope to see you all very soon. **


	3. Small stories

In the evenings, if he was not too exhausted or his muscles didn't ache that much, Harry Potter was telling stories to himself.

The stories were never the same from one day to another. He found himself surprised how much he could vary the stories.

Harry never made one about his life. He knew that his captor knew what he was doing, but to his great relief, he wasn't punished. He guessed it was because Harry merely whispered them to himself and never spoke about them.

But he had some rules.

First, there was never a story about anyone being imprisoned. It would be a punch in the gut to say it out loud. How very desperate he was. How much he missed feeling the wind, or the whippings you received from the rain. The softness of the snow, treating everything the same regardless of color or shape. He missed the smells of autumn and the spring. To whisper it would acknowledge the feelings and he did not allow it because then he began to cry.

Second, no one was ever abducted, kidnapped nor did anyone go missing. The characters always told where they were going, and they were always back when they said they would be. At night they slept in their own beds, if they were not sleeping over with their friends.

Third, he made sure that the characters did not look like anyone he knew. There were no black dogs, no bats, no one had wild hair, nor curly. No one used glasses and most importantly, no one had green eyes.

It was the most horrible offense he had committed against his captor. The green eyes were not allowed to look at the grown man who had taken him to this place. He was to look at the floor whenever his captor came in his room, giving him chores for the day or when the worst thing happened, punishments for whatever sins the boy had committed.

That was the fourth thing. There was never a story about anyone being punished. No one was locked in without food for days. No one cuffed his characters' head because they had been disrespectful. No one hit them, or spanked them. No, his characters did what they were told by their parents or guardians, and if they were unable to complete their chores then their parents would be understanding because that was what parents were, right?

And then there was that last, fifth thing he dared not include in his stories.

Death.

He knew that he was living on borrowed time. His captor could one day decide that he was to kill the last Potter, to slash his throat. It seemed to him that his captor liked things dirty. Before he came, this house was very dirty. He had to clean the wretched house, and paint the walls with shiny purple. He had not asked why, because he had already been given a beating that week and wasn't too keen on getting another one. And slashing the throat was dirty business. The boy could imagine the cold blade on his throat, slicing trough. He could see his own blood staining the floor. His own body lying there, left alone in the house.

Because the man told him clearly that the only reason why he came in this house was because it was the last house he'd be in, and therefore a perfect place to hide Harry Potter. Then he had punched Harry's nose and said that he would not leave this place as long as he lived.

And then, it was Voldemort. There was a chance that he would find him, even though he had not done it, and Harry knew very specifically that it was five months since he was imprisoned here. And Harry knew that if the Demon found him, he would be dead.

So he left it out, a tiny bit because he was afraid to be punished, but mostly to himself. In the stories, he made a perfect world, he made it how it should be. A world where people traveled to visit a King because they needed advice.

A world where teenagers went out at seven o' clock, and sat sat in cafe to ten, discussing religion.

A world where a man would dress up as Jareth from the movie Labyrinth (the only good Muggle movie Harry somewhat remembered watching). But instead of kidnapping children he would exchange stories against bread and cheese.

A world where children played in the snow and watched the stars from their windows.

The people in the stories he made had things which Harry did not. And late at night, when he was too tired to think of a new one he would memorize one he had already told. And after every story he would promise himself to get out of this prison and write them down.

And people who read them would be happy.

**AN: Sometimes I think that Media Luna is cursed. Not that it is hard to write, because it isn't. But my pieces has a problem getting long enough. Know that this isn't because I hate writing long pieces, or because I can't write long chapters. I admit that it has something to do with the fact that I only write with one finger, but I can write longer pieces. **

**But for some reason, it's hard with Media Luna. They're slowly, slowly climbing up. And I too hope they get longer, but for now you just have to bear this with me until I'm able to squeze a long one to you, which I am trying very hard to do.**

**I want to thank CrayonsPink,Dragon Soarer, Jokegirl, Lucillia, Lunezx, MetalCloud, Mord-Sith Rahland pretender-gurl for putting this story on alert, CrayonsPink, Dragon Soarer, Hiead,Mara Jade Snapeand Miroku121 for putting the story on favorite, who ever of 91 staff members at the C2 "Potions and Snitches: Story Watch" who put my story in with all those stories, Hiead,****CrayonsPink, Dragon Soarer, Fantasyfan4ever, ingridmr, Jazz. E. Roisin, Jokegirl, bookwormofmassiveproportions for reviewing, and last but not least Jazz. E. Roisin for betaing my work. ******

I am glad you enjoyed my story and hope to see you all soon

**Love Shuna **


	4. In Power We Entrust The Love Advocated

Severus looked up at the ceiling. Closed his eyes and opened them. Or was he actually blinking? Things were going slow now, so he wasn't sure. He could feel the poison running through his veins, but he was surprised that it didn't hurt. It only felt like a warmth going through his system. But he was still there. Among the living.

Something was blocking the ceiling.

It was a human. The human was looking at him, horrified by the sight of him. Severus could clearly see this in the green eyes of the human.

Oh.

It was _him._

The boy.

And then Severus remembered something which had been gone from his mind since his escape from the school. The memories. He was supposed to give them to the boy. And as was the most natural thing in the world, he fulfilled that promise.

"Look at me..." His voice rasped. _Look at me as I leave this world boy. I don't know if you can see it. Do you see my shape? Can you see me preparing to fly away from here?_ _It does not matter. Sooner or later we will meet again. _

Severus felt like smiling. He felt like he was fading. Like the wind was taking him to another place. It was a wonderful feeling.

_The Dark Lord never found the keys to my heart, Potter. And though you can't even defend your mind against an ant, he has not found yours either. _And then Severus left the place, flying through the air to wherever he was destined to go.

**A.N: As always, thanks to every single person who puts this story on favorite, alert, C2 or review this story. You make every writing day worth it. **


	5. Put Your Thoughts On Fire

**A.N: I am terribly sorry about leaving you guys in the air like this. Here is finally the fifth chapter, which I hope you enjoy.**

They were screaming downstairs again. The quill halted as a sigh escaped the boy's lips. He couldn't do homework when the two men were arguing. His delicate fingers corked the ink and put away the essay, a shame really. He was actually quite pleased with what he had written so far. But it didn't help at all, he had discovered a long time ago, to do homework when people were fighting or arguing.

Harry stretched as he rose from his bed. His shoulders felt terribly stiff after sitting slightly hunched over his essay. His guardian did not approve of him using a quill when he was in his bedroom, but it was way better than sitting in the kitchen, where he was trapped for hours as the two jet haired men started their usual screaming match, one staring in the fireplace while fire danced in the eyes of the other man who was in the fire.

In his room, Harry had free access to the bathroom and could easily slip out of the window if he couldn't take the sound.

His vivid green eyes lay on the lone window. It was old fashioned with only one layer of glass, not succeeding in shutting out the smell of the nearby river, or in keeping the room warm during the winter. It had an air of neglect lingering in the falling white flakes of paint.

Nodding to himself, Harry grabbed the nearby jumper, and pulled it over his head. He growled as the movement tore of his glasses. His fingers clumsily had to feel their way to them. Finally, they made contact with the metal frame. Yanking them out of the jumper, he hastily put them on. The men still argued, which meant that neither of them would notice him. Nodding to himself, he quietly walked toward the old window as his Godfather yelled something which made the boy halt.

"The only reason why you're keeping him is because you're trying to pay for the sins you committed towards his parents!"

Had his guardian done something to his parents? An ache blossomed in Harry's stomach. His caretaker had only mentioned his parents before he adopted the boy. Then it was only his father who had been brought up, and it had mostly consisted how arrogant and terrible they both where. After the adoption, he had stopped saying those things, and Harry had just let it lie.

Closing his eyes tightly, he opened the window without looking, and slid out with ease.

He opened his eyes, his gaze going between the deserted houses. He didn't know why, but looking at the dark brick often made him feel quite small. There was rarely anyone who walked in this part of the city, apart from the stray cats. It was kind of the point with slipping out of the house, though he couldn't say that he enjoyed it too much. Trying to not wince as another accusation was roared, the boy started walking slowly, lowering his head a little.

His shoes were obviously in a need of repair. He could see his own sock through them, but none of his toes were sticking out as of yet. It was probably a good thing that it had not rained as much as the previous year; if it had then his feet would have been soaked already, making that terrible clicking sound every time he walked.

It was not long before the quarrel was outside his hearing range. The nearly fourteen year old boy sighed heavily, his eyes scanning the area around him.

There were some empty cans of cat food littering the streets, obviously belonging to an old lady who kindly took the mission to feed them. There were no cats out today, something he appreciated. Though he enjoyed their company, he did not wish it tonight. Nor did he want to stumble across these ladies. Harry did not have the nerve to tell anyone this, but he was afraid of the old women who would sneak in this little abandoned labyrinth. In their eyes he could almost see their silly thoughts of him living here, surrounded by cats.

The thought of living like a cat made the boy giggle. He could almost see himself sitting silently like that tabby which never moved, or play with things invisible to the human eye. His smile faltered a bit. It wasn't that funny. He was sure that there were little boy's living like that in other parts of the world.

He kept walking until he came to his favourite area, the part of the labyrinth which had belonged to the poorest workers, who lived closest to the ruin which had once been a spinning factory. The quiet atmosphere here swallowed anyone who entered this domain, believed to be haunted. Harry had been playing here ever since he found it. He had never seen ghosts here as long as he had lived here.

He spent some minutes imagining ghosts walking up and down to the factory, eyes downcast and dressed in rags. Then he reluctantly turned his back to the ruins, making his way back to the house. He hoped his guardian hadn't discovered that his charge had slipped out of the room. Not only would the man be livid, he'd possibly make extra precautions to prevent the boy from slipping out.

And then he would be unable to escape the screaming and shouting of the two grown men...


End file.
